Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [21]
“And built like a prizefighter,” Ramses said, absently rubbing his wrist. “He knows a few dirty moves too.”
“It is not our affair,” Emerson declared. “You heard me, Peabody; you are not to call on his family and pry into their affairs and lecture them about medical treatment. You always—”
“No, Emerson, I do not ‘always,’ and I have no intention of interfering in this case. We have other matters to attend to.”
“Too true,” said Cyrus, sighing.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
They stopped by the Castle in the forlorn hope that the missing Italian had turned up after all. He had not. Emerson persuaded Cyrus and Bertie to go to Deir el Medina with him, and Katherine emphatically seconded the suggestion. They could not expect to hear from Russell until late that night and, as Katherine candidly admitted, “To be honest, my dear, if you search that room one more time, I shall scream.”
Ramses helped Nefret collect his vociferous offspring and their paraphernalia. His mother marched off to Emerson’s study, with a glint in her eyes that made Ramses wonder what she was up to now. He decided it was more than likely that Emerson would stroll in that evening to find she had finished the article for him. Then there would be a row. About time, he thought. They hadn’t had a first-class argument in days.
They rode the horses, since the distance was too great for short legs. Ramses took his daughter up with him on Risha and Nefret held Davy, who was a fraction less wriggly than his sister. They loved riding with their parents and Charla told Ramses so at length. He assumed from her chuckles and gestures that was what she was talking about; he didn’t understand a word.
They were eagerly awaited, especially by Selim’s four youngest children, who ranged in age from a staggering one-year-old to the big sister of six. Daoud and his wife Kadija had stopped by, too. Ramses knew he wouldn’t see much of Nefret for the rest of the afternoon; she and Kadija were close friends, and Kadija, a woman of majestic proportions and the owner of a famous green ointment whose recipe she had inherited from her Nubian foremothers, was still shy of him and his father. She and Nefret went off with Selim’s wives and the children, leaving the men to smoke and drink coffee under the shady arcade of the courtyard.
Daoud planted his huge hands on his large knees and beamed at Ramses. His beard was grizzled now, but his strength was unimpaired. It was equaled only by his large heart. “Is there news?” he asked hopefully.
There was plenty of news. Ordinarily Ramses would have taken Selim into his confidence, but although he was extremely fond of Daoud, he was well aware of the latter’s weakness for gossip. “Nothing you don’t know,” he said. “We go to Cairo on the Sunday, and will bring the family back with us a few days later.”
“Sooner than later,” said Daoud firmly. “It has been too long since they have been here, and to think I have never set eyes on the namesake and great-grandson of my honored uncle Abdullah!”
“They call him Dolly,” Ramses said. “They plan to stay the entire season, so you will see a great deal of him.”
Selim’s fine dark eyes had moved from speaker to speaker. Now he cleared his throat. “This time it is Daoud who has news to tell. He has found out why Hassan left the Father of Curses.”
Daoud looked reproachful. He enjoyed his reputation as the family’s official storyteller, and he would have worked up to the disclosure with proper rhetoric. However, he rallied promptly. “It is surprising news, Ramses. You would never have imagined it. Even I, when he told me, was struck dumb with amazement. My eyes opened wide and my voice failed me.”
“But not for long,” said Selim, grinning. He sobered almost at once; Ramses had the impression that something was troubling him. “So, Daoud, do not draw the tale out. Tell Ramses what Hassan said.”
“I will show him,” Daoud declared, rising ponderously to his feet. “Come, Ramses. It is not far.”
Ramses waved Selim’s protest